1
HENDRIX
“What the fuck is that?” Jelly, one of the other roadies helping with stage construction, nudged me in the ribs.
“Dammit!” I jerked my head up, dropping the huge bolt I was about to secure in the process, and glanced over at the woman walking across the stage. Time slowed down while my pulse sped up. Long blonde hair framed a face that belonged on the cover of a magazine. Her curves seemed to go on forever. I forgot about the ratchet in my hand, forgot I still had a whole set to construct and not enough time to do it, and stared at the goddess as she passed.
“Did you see that?” Jelly asked.
“Are you kidding me?” I turned to him, already feeling slightly possessive of the curvy blonde. “If she was a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.”
“Not the chick,” Jelly said. “She’s fine as hell, but I was talking about the furry thing sticking out of her purse.”
I squinted at the pink bag tucked under the woman’s arm. A tuft of white hair stuck out of the top. “Who do you think she is?”
“Probably another superfan who’s been waiting ten years to throw herself at one of the guys in the band.” Jelly snorted. “You should see the length some of these women will go to for a shot at a few minutes of fame.”
I looked down to try to locate the bolt I’d dropped, then gave up and eyed the blonde instead. She had on thigh-high black boots with narrow, spiked heels. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a sleek ponytail that hung halfway down her back, and her hot pink mini dress barely covered her full, round ass. While I stared, the heel of her boot lodged between two panels of the stage. She stepped forward, lost her balance, and fell to one knee.
“Oh, shit.” In seconds, I was by her side, offering her my hand. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I should have known better than to wear these boots today.” She took my hand. A zap of electricity traveled up my arm as I helped her to her feet. “Shoot. Where’s my purse? Where’s Growler?”
“Here’s your bag.” I picked it up and handed it to her.
She pulled the tiny furball out and cradled it against her chest. “Are you okay, Growler? I’m such a klutz.”
The little dog lapped at her fingers with its small pink tongue. I’d never seen a dog that fucking little, but it appeared to be unharmed. The blonde, however, still had her heel lodged in the crack of the stage. She tried to lift her foot, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Do you need a hand with that?” I nodded toward her boot. Some of the other guys putting the set together had started to take notice. So did the asshole working security at the venue, who wasn’t part of the tour.
“Here, can you hold Growler for a second?” She thrust the ball of fur at my chest.
“Yeah, sure.” Instinct had me reaching for the miniscule critter. He looked more like a lover than a fighter, especially withthe pink bow tie around his neck and another one holding that tuft of hair together. “Why do you call him Growler?”
On cue, the dog let out a low, menacing growl.
I lifted the furball up to look him in the eyes. “I get it. He likes to let everyone know he’s in charge, huh?”
“Careful!” The blonde reached for the dog just as he lunged at my face.
The sharp sting of his tiny teeth piercing my chin almost made me drop the little fucker.
“I’m so sorry.” She grabbed Growler from my hands. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”
I wiped the back of my hand across my beard. There wasn’t much blood, and I’d survived a hell of a lot worse. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“He sometimes gets nervous around men. I think he was mistreated by his first owner.” She put the dog back in her bag and pulled out a tissue. “Let me at least wipe the blood away for you.”
I held still while she dabbed at my face. The scent of her perfume wrapped around me and pulled me closer. Despite the bite from her miniscule companion, I wanted to find out more about her.
“If you take off your boot, I’ll get you unstuck.”
“Thanks.” She leaned over and unzipped her boot, flashing me with an eyeful of cleavage in the process. This woman was going to be trouble. I could feel it deep down in my bones, just like my foster mom could predict an incoming storm. “There. I’m free.”
She stepped out of her boot as the security guard from the venue approached. He was one of those guys who had to stick his nose into everything to prove his importance. I’d dealt with plenty of his type during my time in the service.
“What’s going on over here?”
